


A Night at the Ballet

by framboise



Series: A Westerosi Yuletide [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballet, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Multi, Older Man/Younger Woman, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Sex in a Theatre Box, Threesome - F/F/M, Voyeurism, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-07 01:32:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12830484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/framboise/pseuds/framboise
Summary: Sansa's boyfriend bought her two tickets to the ballet for Christmas but on the night of the performance he stands her up and leaves her waiting outside, overdressed and tearful.Her knight in shining armour comes in the form of Stannis Baratheon, her boyfriend's uncle, and his gorgeous girlfriend Melisandre who offer Sansa the spare seat between them in their private theatre box...





	A Night at the Ballet

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series of multipairing stories for Yuletide
> 
> I wrote this for the #aesthetic tbh

 

 

Sansa is not going to cry, she tells herself, when her boyfriend is twenty minutes late to meet her in front of the Opera House, when the kind woman in the ticket office for La Bayadère shakes her head as Sansa asks if she can pick up their tickets without his ID, when Joffrey refuses to answer his phone, when a group of tourists in casual dress laugh at Sansa's outfit which is admittedly more formal than many of the audience because tonight was supposed to be something _special_ , when her mother texts her and asks her to take a photo of the view from her seats and Sansa can't bear to text her back and tell her that she's been stood up. But when the bell in the lobby rings with the five minute warning, Sansa gives in and bursts into tears, leaning against the hoardings outside the theatre and trying to shield her face from view, blaming herself for ever trusting Joffrey, for thinking that she might have a lovely night at the ballet, for getting all dressed up for nothing.

"Miss Stark?" a man's voice suddenly asks.

She wipes her tears and tries to compose her face as she looks over to see Stannnis Baratheon, her boyfriend's uncle, with his usual stern expression in place. He has forgone his usual boring suit for black tie with a burgundy waistcoat underneath his jacket.

"Stannis?" she asks, and almost cringes at her shaking voice.

"Are you alright, Miss Stark?" he asks, frowning.

"It's Sansa," she says, feeling her chin tremble. "I was waiting for someone, for my boyfriend," she heaves a shaking breath, "but he's not coming and he has the tickets." 

"I do hope that he shall soon be your ex-boyfriend, he deserves it for leaving a lovely thing like you out here alone," the woman standing beside Stannis says and Sansa blinks as she comes into view.

If Sansa is overdressed, in her floor length silver sequin dress with shimmering blue wrap around her shoulders, then this woman, who is quite possibly the most beautiful woman Sansa has ever seen in real life, puts her to shame. _Her_ dress is red and slinky and she's wearing long red silk gloves and a rich red fur around her shoulders that almost matches the long red ringlets of her hair.

"Melisandre," she says, holding out a hand, "I'm with Stannis."

"Pleasure to meet you," Sansa says shaking her hand even though she has the odd urge to bend down and kiss it instead, like she's meeting royalty.

Sansa has only met Stannis a few times, and not in the last couple of years since she started dating Joffrey. Stannis is a notorious workaholic who doesn't seem to enjoy the company of his brothers and their families, and Sansa only knows about his infamous new girlfriend through overhearing her mother on the phone. _A classic midlife crisis_ , her mother had said to her friend, _it's embarrassing at his age to have a woman like her on his arm. They say that she's got him into one of those eastern new age cults as well, Ned says that he painted his office red and filled it with incense and figurines, like some kind of brothel._

"We have a spare seat in our private box, don't we, Stannis?" Melisandre says to the man beside her, whose expression is inscrutable.

"We do."

"Please join us, Sansa, it would be criminal to waste a gorgeous outfit like that," she says and Sansa flushes at the way Melisandre's eyes graze her body.

"Are you sure?" she asks, turning to Stannis, feeling a flutter of excitement in her stomach.

"I insist," he says, "let me make up for the reprehensible behaviour of my nephew."

Sansa should probably defend her boyfriend but he's been an ass to her for so many months that she can't muster the required outrage.

"Some champagne will soon have you forgetting that horrible boy," Melisandre says, as she places a hand behind Sansa's back and leads her inside.

Sansa is trying not to smile too widely as they are directed past the crowds and up the stairs to their seats but when she enters through the curtain and walks out into the box and sees the view over the stalls and of the stage with its heavy velvet fire curtain, she cannot hold back her excitement.

She sighs heavily and turns to them both. "I can't thank you enough for this. Can I help pay for the ticket?"

"Certainly not," Stannis says, looking angry but somehow she knows that he's angry at the situation and not at her. "And don't thank us yet, the performance might be terrible," he adds.

"Oh, Stannis," Melisandre says, hitting him on the arm with the gloves she's taken off. "He's a terrible pessimist, but I'm trying my best to change that," she tells Sansa conspiratorially.

Sansa smiles as Stannis rolls his eyes.

"Now you sit down here in between us," Melisandre says, pointing to the central seat and Sansa does as she says.

Sansa always thought there were more seats in these boxes but this one only fits three. It's the top box on the right side of the stage and their seats are far enough back from the balcony edge to be almost hidden from the entire audience. There's a sense of luxurious privacy here that makes her sigh in relief after feeling so on show out in front of the theatre.

She takes out her phone and texts her mother the promised view. But she doesn't tell her that Joffrey didn't arrive, or that she's a guest of Stannis and his girlfriend.

Stannis leaves, muttering about the delay and looking for an usher to bring them champagne and Melisandre sits beside her and reaches out a slender hand to touch the skirt of Sansa's dress above her knee.

"Such a lovely dress," she says.

"Thank you. But it can't hold a candle to yours," Sansa says.

"This old thing," Melisandre says and then laughs. "It's quite special isn't it, it was a gift from Stannis. He's a very generous man," she says.

Melisandre holds eye contact like no one she's ever met, and it's making her feel flustered and warm.

"This might be the best Christmas present I've ever had," Sansa admits.

"Did you hear that, Stannis?" Melisandre asks as the man in question returns carrying a bucket holding ice and a very expensive champagne, with another bottle under his arm and three glasses in one large fist.

"The usher says there's a fault with the sprinkler system and that the first act will start twenty minutes late. It's amateur hour in here," he grumbles.

"More time to chat and drink champagne," Melisandre offers as Stannis opens the bottle effortlessly, making Sansa jump at the pop of the cork.

Stannis pours three glasses and Sansa takes hers from him carefully, feeling the brush of his calloused hand against hers and taking a quick sip that sends warmth through her limbs. She shivers pleasantly and takes another sip.

"This is wonderful," she says. "Thank you, Stannis."

"My pleasure," he says, as the tannoy announces the delay to the sound of audience groans and the flicker of a hundred programmes being fanned at faces.

Stannis leans against the side of the box, peering out beyond the rococo plaster cupids decorating its edge.

"You should text Joffrey and dump him, do it while the feeling is hot," Melisandre suggests as Sansa drinks two large gulps of her drink.

"Do you think so?" Sansa says, feeling the fizz of champagne in her head and thinking that Melisandre's suggestion sounds like an excellent idea.

"You should, and if he's rude to you, Stannis here will call his father up and have him told off."

"Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that," Sansa says.

"I'd do it anyway, he's a little worm, you're too good for that boy," Stannis remarks and Sansa turns round to look at him with an open mouth. Everyone else dances around Joffrey, sometimes implying that she's at fault for his behaviour, for the way he flirts with other girls and sneers at her when she asks him not to.

"Alright," Sansa says, feeling fortified by both their words.

 _I'm sorry, this isn't going to work, I don't want to go out with you anymore_ , she texts, knowing that she could be far ruder but thinking that he doesn't deserve to hear how she really feels. Sansa can be cool and calm, like a femme fatale, she decides, glancing around at her decadent surroundings - the red velvet, the brass fittings, the glittering chandelier, the dreamy mural painted on the ceiling, the condensation on the bucket of champagne that shimmers like gems, the formal dress of her two companions.

"It's done," she announces and turns her phone off so he can't ruin this evening for her. She shivers at her boldness, and feels her lips curve into a grin.

"More champagne?" Melisandre offers.

"Please," she says.

She's feeling warmer now so she takes off her wrap and folds it carefully over the back of the plush seat.

"Such lovely beadwork," Melisandre murmurs, touching one of the thin straps of Sansa's dress, finger slipping to stroke the skin next the strap as well.

Stannis coughs and shifts against the wall.

"It's the first time I've worn this dress," Sansa says.

She's started to think that Melisandre is coming onto her but she's been wrong about this kind of thing before, like that awkward night when she leaned over and kissed her friend Margaery only to be kindly rebuffed a moment later.

If Melisandre _is_ making a move on her then Stannis doesn't seem to disapprove. His face is no sterner than usual.

"Your nail varnish is lovely," Sansa says, reaching out to touch Melisandre's hand which is now resting on the armrest between them. Short nails, she thinks, that's a good sign.

"So's yours," Melisandre says, taking Sansa's hand in hers and flicking her eyes behind her shoulder to look heatedly at Stannis.

Sansa has always had a thing for older men, and older women, and she's trying very hard not to get excited here, not to let her mind spin ahead to impossible things while the champagne buoys her bravery.

"And your hair," Melisandre adds, stroking her other hand down Sansa's loose waves, fingers brushing against her cheek. "Such a wonderful shade."

Sansa bites her lip and tries not to gasp, tries to remember where she is.

"Are you still a student?" Stannis asks suddenly, and Sansa leans back from Melisandre with a jerk.

"I'm in my last year, I'm twenty one," she says, and hopes it doesn't sound like she's mentioning her age too pointedly.

She sees a small twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Stannis isn't classically handsome but he's tall and he has piercing blue eyes and a strong jaw, broad shoulders underneath that fantastic suit. He has a reputation for being staid and boring, but Sansa doesn't think someone boring would wear a suit like that, or date a woman like Melisandre.

"And you'll be graduating with a first, I imagine," Melisandre says.

"I hope so," Sansa says, turning to the woman beside her.

"Sit down, Stannis," Melisandre calls, "it'll be starting soon," and he takes his seat begrudgingly.

Sansa takes a deep breath when she feels the side of his thigh brush against her own before he adjusts his legs. She feels so aware of the both of them beside her, their legs, their torsos, their arms on the armrests.

She takes a small sip of her champagne and leans forward over the balcony edge to stare at the audience and the orchestra tuning up. She almost forgot that she's here to see a ballet – La Bayadère, her favourite since she first saw it as a young teenager. Although how she's going to concentrate on the dancers while sitting between these two she has no idea.

The lobby bell rings and Melisandre leans forward next to her, her silken hair falling across Sansa's bare shoulder. Sansa digs her nails into her own leg. Melisandre is wearing a heady perfume - Opium, Sansa thinks - and Stannis is wearing a spicy cologne on her other side that is doing something Pavlovian to her insides.

"Here we go," Melisandre murmurs as the lights dip.

"It's about time," Stannis mutters crossly and Sansa feels the hairs on her arm stand on end at the forcefulness of his tone.

He's very...controlled, Stannis, very in charge. Sansa squirms a little in her seat and leans back from the balcony edge.

It's dark and cosy in their little box, especially when Stannis stands up and pulls the curtain behind them more firmly closed, the fabric of his suit brushing against Sansa's hot face before he sits down. From their seats she can see the stage at a right angle, but she can't see the audience or even the orchestra, and the boxes opposite are empty tonight. It's as if they are in their own private world.

The music begins and Sansa feels it below her breastbone, the strings, the woodwind, the brass; and her limbs go loose as the first dancer strides into view.

"Wonderful," Melisandre sighs, and rests her hand on Sansa's thigh.

Sansa tries not to let her muscles clench up.

"Such lovely costumes," Melisandre whispers, leaning closer to Sansa's ear, as more dancers appear.

Sansa watches their movements, their muscles straining underneath tights and leotards, the way the couples who dance together touch each other, smoothing hands along limbs, cradling heads, straining their bodies into glorious shapes.

Melisandre has started to knead gently at Sansa's leg. She glances down and sees the silhouette of her hand on the silver of her dress and wonders if Stannis can see, finds herself hoping he can.

"Is this alright?" Melisandre whispers, her lips brushing the edge of Sansa's ear, and Sansa brings her hand up to cover her gasp and nods frantically.

"Good," Melisandre says and she can hear her smile.

Melisandre's hand brushes up and down her thigh over the sequined fabric and then dips down to find the slit in Sansa's dress.

Sansa glances over to see that Stannis' hand is clutching the armrest between them tightly, hears the fabric creak under his grip.

This feels like a dream, like some kind of fantasy come to life. Melisandre's hand is sliding slowly up Sansa's bare thigh and she thanks the gods she decided not to wear tights tonight, even if she was almost frozen waiting outside, because she's certainly not cold now. Melisandre's warm fingers smooth towards her underwear, a special lace set tonight that had a corset that went with it, which she's glad she decided not to wear because she's finding it hard to breathe as it is as the other woman's fingers brush against the front of her knickers.

Sansa gasps and jolts out a hand to clutch the armrest on her other side but she forgot that Stannis' arm is there. She makes to apologise but he turns his wrist and takes her hand in his. She thinks she's going to die as Stannis squeezes her hand firmly and Melisandre works her fingers inside her knickers, fingertips brushing through the curls underneath.

"Oh my god," Sansa whispers underneath her breath, eyes blurring at the colourful scene on the stage, the mass of dancers who she isn't paying attention to at all now.

"Do you like that?" Melisandre asks as Stannis shifts in his chair beside her and moves his head closer as if to look. His breath fans across Sansa's neck as Melisandre's fingers work their way down and find Sansa soaking wet. Her index finger strokes gently around her clit and Sansa squeezes Stannis' hand, curling her toes in her high heels.

Melisandre works her slowly, expertly, shifting closer to brush her lips against Sansa's neck, to press her breasts against her side. She dips two fingers inside of her as Sansa lifts her hips to help and presses the heel of her palm against her clit. Stannis has moved closer now too and placed his other large hand on Sansa's thigh, clutching it firmly.

This is the hottest moment of Sansa's life and she's going to come in a matter of moments and probably cry out loudly too so that everyone can hear. And the thought that they _might_ hear, the thought of the audience out there, has her breath leave her throat in a squeak and Melisandre turns her towards her with her other hand and kisses her so that her groan is muffled by the other woman's hot mouth as Sansa pulses around Melisandre's fingers and Stannis grunts quietly beside her, flexing his hand so tightly on her thigh that she thinks, hopes, he'll leave a bruise.

After a few moments of the greatest bliss Sansa has ever felt, Melisandre breaks the kiss and Sansa falls back into her seat, staring up at the darkened ceiling of the box, cheeks so hot she's sure their colour can still be seen.

Melisandre's hand retreats from between her legs and then lifts towards Stannis and Sansa watches as she _feeds her fingers_ _into Stannis' mouth_ and her cunt twitches as if she could come again from just that.

"Fuck," she whispers, the soft slick sound of his mouth on Melisandre's wet fingers sounding far too loud as the music hushes for a moment before a crescendo begins.

Melisandre takes her hand back and Sansa looks at Stannis who is looking back at her, eyes glinting in the darkness. He squeezes her leg again and then takes his hands back too and then the audience suddenly breaks into applause and the first act is over, the curtain falling and the lights coming up.

Sansa sits there gasping, brushing her hair back from her face and praying that no one is looking, that no one can see quite how debauched she is. She reaches for her forgotten champagne and downs the rest of her glass and then glances over to Melisandre who looks flushed and proud, and then back to Stannis who looks heated in a kind of angry way that makes Sansa's lower belly tremble.

"Wonderful first act," he murmurs, his voice deep.

Sansa blushes and bites her lip, eyes drawn to his mouth, to the thought of her taste on his tongue.

"Fabulous," Melisandre remarks. "What did you think, Sansa?"

"Amazing," Sansa sighs, and then smiles, biting back a giddy laugh.

"It's a wonderful ballet but I find myself quite...starved," Melisandre muses, "silly me to forget to eat before we left. Are you hungry too, Stannis?"

He huffs a wry laugh. "Ravenous," he says.

"I had the thought that we might go back to yours for dinner," Melisandre says and then turns to Sansa. "His new flat is wonderful, have you been there before?"

Sansa shakes her head.

"I've just helped him redecorate. It was all boring beiges before I got there but now it looks positively decadent, all warm fabrics and soft furnishings in velvets and satins, with fur blankets and silk curtains. There's a gorgeous new fire in the lounge and I even persuaded him to buy a new bed, a giant four poster thing," she says and Stannis snorts a laugh. "I know you've been looking forward to seeing the ballet tonight, Sansa," Melisandre says, frowning delicately. "But what do you think to coming back for dinner now in our car, and missing the other two acts. We can come and see the rest of it another night, Stannis' company have this box for the whole season."

"That sounds perfect," Sansa says. She cannot remember anything about the ballet itself, about the music, the dancers, or the costumes. "I'd love to see your flat," she says to Stannis, watching the corner of his mouth lift into a dark smile.

"Perfect," Melisandre says, standing up and smoothing down her dress.

Sansa takes a deep breath and stands and then wobbles, her legs still unsteady, as Stannis puts his hands on her bare shoulders to steady her. Quite how she is going to make it home with them without bursting into flames on the way there, Sansa is not sure; let alone withstanding whatever they have planned for her when they get there. Her breath catches at the thought.

"Let me help you with your wrap," Melisandre says, turning her around to face Stannis.

"You have some lipstick," he says, bringing the pad of his thumb up to Sansa's lips as Melisandre slides her wrap over her shoulders.

"Do I?" Sansa says, voice tremulous, and Stannis meets her eyes once and then bends forward to kiss her, a firm press of his mouth and then a swipe of his tongue across her lips before he pulls back, smirking.

Sansa licks her lips and tastes a heady combination.

"Ready to go?" Melisandre asks.

"Yes please," Sansa says, nodding, and making the both of them laugh.

Stannis takes her arm as they leave the box while Melisandre rests her hand on Sansa's lower back.

"I don't know how I'm going to make it to the car," Sansa admits.

"Stannis will carry you if you fall," Melisandre says, leaning closer so that her lips touch her neck. "Won't you, Stannis?"

"It would be my pleasure," his deep voice rumbles and Sansa could swoon.

The theatre is a blur to her as they make their way down the stairs and through the lobby, out into the cold of the night which makes her shiver. Their car is waiting for them right there, black with tinted windows, and Stannis holds the door open for Sansa and Melisandre as they slide inside. The leather of the seat catches at Sansa's dress and brushes against her thighs as she settles next to Melisandre and Stannis takes his seat on her other side.

There is a tinted screen between the driver and the backseat and as the car drives off her companions turn their bodies towards her.

"Is it a long drive?" Sansa asks in a reedy voice, cheeks heating.

"Oh, yes," Melisandre murmurs and turns Sansa's face to kiss her, as Stannis moves a hand to knead one of Sansa's breasts and sucks at her neck, nipping gently with his teeth.

Sansa doesn't know quite what she's done to deserve a Christmas present as phenomenal as this one but she's determined that whenever she manages to get her breath back she'll make sure to express her thanks quite thoroughly to her two generous benefactors later tonight.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> please comment, I'd love to hear what people think!
> 
> my tumblr: [framboise-fics](http://framboise-fics.tumblr.com)
> 
> and there's a photoset for this fic [here](https://framboise-fics.tumblr.com/post/168536979897/sansas-boyfriend-bought-her-two-tickets-to-the)


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